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Through Slag
Looking at a datapad Punch types in the final commands to seal, deactivate and de-designate what were his quarters. Sighing a little as he does so. AFter it's done he flips a cig from nowhere and absently lets it self ignite. Look what the cassetticon drug in. It's taken Shiftlock all night to get back. Grains of oxide from the rust sea tumble off her wheels every few steps, and she has some of the grime of the undercity of Vos on her feet. She's been all over, and she hasn't yet seen a recharge. Sunstreaker comes in from the opposite end of the corridor looking a mite ill, one hand sliding along the wall as if to brace himself. "Slagging spacebridges...Urgh." When he comes upon Punch, he straightens and puts on his best menacing face - a false smile. It's all body language with this guy. "Where is Shiftlock's quarters?" he asks simply. "Oh, there she is now. Nevermind." He waves through the enercig vapor and beelines for the ragged femme. Punch, having seen Sunny come and go, just walks over to where Shift is and Sunny's heading to. There might be lots of things he can bring to a conversation but, now, the best thing he can bring is silence. Shiftlock seems to have a lot on her mind, but the approach of Big Yellow is enough to make her stop and notice. Her body language says 'I'm watching you'. "Need something?" she asks, calmly but cautiously. Sunstreaker might hate folk up in his personal bubble, but he doesn't seem to mind invading others, and he looms particularly close to Shiftlock, optics narrowed. "You look like slag," is all he says, clearly testing some thresholds. His smile remains serene, unnerving, even as he looks back at Punch in an unreadable gesture. "I've been through slag," Shiftlock coolly replies, a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She folds her arms and relaxes her stance, as if Sunstreaker isn't a threat to her at all. Punch simply stops after walking across the room. Another trained operative couldn't read him today, much less the lambro in the room. He stands, smokes, and simply asks Shift "I'm sorry to hear that, is there anything I can do at all?" Sunstreaker studies the femme a moment longer, his smile fading to a slight sneer of annoyance. Prey is what shrinks and cowers. There's no prey here. He mimics her stance, folding his arms and moving aside slightly so he's not blocking Punch too much. "She's fine," he declares, then looks back to her pointedly. "Don't try to get any favor out of me," he hisses. "But... Thank you. For keeping an optic on Sideswipe. He's an idiot, but he's the only one I've got." Expressing his gratitude is painfully difficult for him, and it shows on his face. Shift looks over at Punch. "You might be able to help me in a little bit. Emphasis on the word 'might'. There are some things I'll have to fight alone." She turns attention to Sunny again, maintaining a cool cat visage. "Sides is good mecha," she agrees. "He helped me as much as I helped him -- and my secret? Well... sometimes when someone goes to excess in one part of their personality, it's because they have a deficiency in the opposite. He wouldn't brag so much if he wasn't trying to convince *himself* how good he is. So... he needs the ego stroke now and again. It'll balance him out." "Of course. Sorry . . . ." Punch clutches his head as he says, ". . . . excuse me a moment." He sits on a nearby chair. Trying not to wince in pain. Sunstreaker manages a faint chuff of amusement, glancing to the side. "He's got confidence issues, I'll agree with you there. Wish he could see what I see." He gives himself a slight shake and returns to sneering. "But he's still a pain in my aft. Fraggin' punk cracked a can of oil on my head! I smashed him good for that but my paint is just wrecked." Punch draws some attention that doesn't involve menace. "Are you okay Punch?" Shift doesn't like the look of it either. "Maybe I should call a medic," she suggests, walking over to Punch. She keeps up the conversation with Sunstreaker though, "Oh, I don't doubt it. If he were any relation of mine I'd have put my foot so far up his aft people would think we're duobots." Shiftlock earns another dry laugh. "Yeah... split sparks, mech." His softened mood continues to annoy him, and he keeps trying to brush it off. "Like I said, don't try and fish for favors. Hn." When she mentions a medic, he shrugs, hands moving to his hips. "Maybe just a processor hiccup?" "Could be," Shift muses thoughtfully. "--Do you always accuse people who treat you nicely as looking for favors?" she asks Sunstreaker. "Because I'm not. I just like you, s'all." A panel flips up on Punch's right arm. After some quick typing to overide a few personal diagnostic protocols and disable some pain management settings Punch visibly brightens. "Everyone worries so. I'm fine." He says with one of his better smiles, "Always have been always will be. Just trying to avoid burdening anyone with my little headaches." Nodding at Sunstreake he says, "That a new finish on your paintwork Sunny? color's looking a lot richer today." Sunstreaker is disarmed by kindness, and it's coming from both Punch and Shiftlock. He leers uneasily. "Everyone has hidden motives, femme," Sunny replies slowly. "/Everyone/. Nothing is worse than being played." But Punch's compliment does make Sunny lift his chin somewhat. "Thanks. Trying out a different finish. Now if you peons will excuse me, I have hitch another ride on that Primus-forsaken spacebridge and go on patrol. Do everyone a favor and clean yourself up, Shiftlock." Shiftlock smiles wisely. "I'll do just that... if it'll get you to notice me. How's that for a motive?" It's probably going to be like using Sunstreaker-repellant. Taking another draw of his cig Punch realizes it's the first intake of it he's enjoyed today. "Sunny? The shuttles are a bit slower but a lot less draining. Just a thought." As a frequent flyer Punch shares a little of his experience on being several places at once.